Ghost Colours
By Derek Künsken
Pablo whispered about x-ray energies and trace metals and sections. His refrain had backgrounded itself over the years, like the white noise of radio, weaving into dreams of other things. Vanessa pushed Brian harder.
“Get him to shut up, Brian!” she said. He blinked. The curtains glowed with sunlight. Seven-thirty, Saturday morning. “f**k!” she said, covering her head with her pillow.
Brian slipped out of bed and padded to the kitchen. He ran the water, put on a pot of coffee, and then fell onto the couch in the living room. Pablo would follow. Pablo had haunted Brian for a few years now, and was hard on his relationship with Vanessa. The apartment smelled of coffee by the time Pablo’s voice, quiet, like a TV turned low, whispered in his ear about metals
